


This icy force both foul and fair

by heavenisalibrary



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Frozen AU, Gen, I'm so sorry, oh gosh, yeah frozen, you read that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy’s hand touches over the streak of silver River had put there, and in the end River has to lock herself in her room for fifteen minutes before proceeding to the party, too busy thinking about all the things that can go wrong when one opens up the doors to other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw Frozen and was a bit obsessed. I'm a bit obsessed with River always. So this is a Doctor Who Frozen AU (ughoadf I know I'm sorry I don't know WHY I felt this necessary) with River as Elsa, Amy as Anna, Rory as Kristoff... The Doctor's a bit more complicated. You'll see. Short chapter to start off, but I've got a good bit done so it shouldn't be too long in between.
> 
> Godspeed.

River never wanted to be Queen. 

She thinks that, probably, when she was younger she wanted to be something or other — she remembers her parents talking about it sometimes, and she’s had more tutors than she could ever consider counting to train herself for this, but whenever she thought about it, being Queen was an abstract. It was something that would happen in many, many years, when her parents were old and grey and weary of their jobs. When she was old, she’d always thought. Of course, she couldn’t have predicted her that her parents’ ship would wreck three years ago, and she never would have thought that her powers would become a prison.

Even thinking about her coronation made the temperature in the room drop a few degrees, and if she dwells on it too long, everything she touches develops a layer of frost. In the weeks leading up to her coronation, she sees people even less than usual — she locks her door against servants who come to clean and feed her, asking that they leave things outside of the door. She sends letters to make arrangements instead of dealing with things in person. Even the gloves aren’t enough to keep her powers in check, and her room is constantly glazed in silvery frost. If she’s honest, she likes the look of it, and she gets too warm when she reins herself in, but she’s long since had it hammered into her that these small things that make her comfortable are dangerous. That they could get her killed.

The day of her coronation, River is a mess of nerves. She tries on her dress in the mirror and tries to keep her hands from shaking — she repeats her father’s mantra as she smooths down the fabric and dries to swallow down all of the fears and insecurities and the tiny bit of grief burning in the back of her eyes. It’s just so difficult for her, even after all of this time. Sometimes River thinks pushing everything back inside of herself makes her feel it more keenly; she looks at her own stoic face in the mirror, sees the flatness in her green eyes, the smooth line of her mouth, the instinctive way her hands fold into one another demurely when she’s not thinking about it, and knows that she’s gotten very good at putting up this front. She knows she must look very poised, and ironically, very cold to everyone she encounters. But inside she feels like she’s boiling, more often than not — every micro-expression she can’t help but make, every slight movement seems so much larger in comparison to what she tries to maintain.

The dress isn’t much to her taste at all. The colors are at once too bright and too dark. The blue is richer than what she prefers, and the purple doesn’t suit her at all. When the maid comes in to beat her thick, curly hair into submission, she sighs at her reflection. She doesn’t look like herself without her hair — Agnes has pulled it out painstakingly piece by piece into an intricate twist at the back of her head, carefully pinning and fixing each strand into place. It’s still slightly wet, and River can see it regaining its curl as it dries, but it won’t look nearly like the lion’s mane it is otherwise.

“You don’t like it, dear?”

“It’s lovely, Agnes,” River says with a nod. “Thank you.”

Agnes looks like she wants to say something, but instead she just smiles a bit and nods, fussing with a few things in River’s room before making her way to the door. River once loved Agnes — she’d been like a grandmother to she and her sister — but after she’d learned of her need to hide her powers, she’d noted the same look on Agnes’s face that everyone around her seemed to wear. Confusion, mixed with disappointment, colored with a shred of hurt. River didn’t leave her quarters much unless she needed to, but when she did she overheard those who worked in the castle gossiping. Once, she’d heard Agnes telling a kitchen girl that there was ice in River’s heart. River couldn’t blame her for saying so, but it still hurt, so she’d long since learned to cut people out. All but one, anyway.

“Dear?” Agnes says, faltering by the door.

River nods at her.

“You should — it might be nice to see you smile. At your coronation, you know. Make people think — or rather, let them see a kind side to you,” Agnes says. 

“Thank you, Agnes. That will be all.”

Agnes hesitates by the door, and River opens her mouth to order her out immediately because she can feel it coming on — it’s ice, of course, but it feels like burning inside of her, like her blood becomes magma in her veins, searing her from the inside out and pushing against her skin until she can’t hold it in any longer — but Agnes slips out just in time. River hurries to the door to push it closed, watching ice crystals climb the intricate wood carvings on the double doors. She sighs in relief, but she only gets a few moments of peace before there’s another knock on the door.

“River?”

River doesn’t answer. She leans against the door, the ice cold against her cheek, and closes her eyes.

“I’m sure you’re busy, coronation and all, and I know you don’t have a lot of time anyway — doing whatever it is you do — but I was just going to eat lunch, and I thought, well, you know, you eat lunch too — so we could eat lunch together. Not as a normal thing, yeah? Just as a celebration. Or special occasion. Or something.”

“I can’t, Amy.”

“River — please?”

River swallows, and slides to the ground with her back against the door.

“I know it’s summer, but — River. Do you want to build a snowman?”

River hears the smile in Amy’s voice and the hope buoying her tone, but she’s nervous enough as is, and seeing her little sister would only make things worse. Turning her sister away has always been the hardest part, especially after their parents died — Amy was all she had. And although sometimes she is too busy to devote time to her little sister, most of her avoidance comes from a combination of fear, an inability to control her powers, and dread of the look, the look she always got anymore. Hiding her powers was supposed to keep others from being scared of her, but she didn’t know how to look at the way everyone tip-toed around her without seeing fear. They couldn’t understand why she’d become what she had, and that made them nervous. It was a horrible cycle, when she dwelled on it too long: they were wary of her because they didn’t understand, and she hid because she didn’t want them to be afraid. Being honest with everyone would only lead to more fear, an even deeper fear, but keeping her secret sowed wariness as well. She’s trapped in a prison she built willingly, brick by brick.

“Go away, Amy.”

“Okay,” Amy says, “okay, bye.”

___

When they open the doors to her coronation for her and she sees the room full of people, she feels so light-headed that it takes all of her presence of mind not to steady herself on the door. River doesn’t think she’s ever seen so many people in one place in her whole life. Even when she needs to hold or attend meetings, she keeps to herself as much as possible, and makes sure to request as private sessions as possible. As she begins to walk down the aisle, for the first time she recognizes that feeling throbbing next to her racing heart: longing. Oh, she wants to meet everybody — she wants to shake everyone’s hand enthusiastically and learn about their lives, she wants to know what they do and how they think, she wants to dance with every last person at the party and touch someone lightly on the shoulder as she tells a story, she wants to grasp someone’s hand in appreciation when they congratulate her, and hug the gaggle of new friends when they leave. There’s a need for intimacy she’s been able to ignore by spending time alone, but exposed to so many, she desperately wants to know and be known. She wants someone to talk to, and she wants someone to touch her — not sexually, not significantly, but casually. A light shoulder touch, a brush at the small of her back when someone passes, a squeeze of her hand; she wants to be enveloped in warm voices and fond smiles and physical sensation.

She brings herself back to the moment when she reaches the front of the room and as the ceremony begins, it takes a ton of effort to keep her focus centered. It’s not fear, suddenly, that’s her enemy, it’s excitement. When she reaches for the objects she must hold and peels off her gloves, her fear is secondary to everything else, and the need she feels radiating off of her person is almost harder to contend with.

None of these people know her, she thinks, as she turns to face them. They don’t have the same sense of loss and disappointment that everyone who works in the castle directs at her, they don’t know her at all yet — they don’t think of her as cold and removed. She can see their curiosity as she looks out at them, and it’s right then that she feels her blood begin to simmer again, because all she can think is about how desperately they can’t get to know her. About how by the end of the night, she’ll be standing in front of all these people once more, and every single one of them will be looking at her like she’s some sort of alien.

The ice is just creeping up through her palms when it’s finished and she can turn around and replace the objects on the pillow. There’s applause as she puts her gloves back on, and she looks out among the crowd for Amy, finally finding her toward the back — no doubt late. She’s wearing a green dress that suits her well, and her red hair is tied up on her head as well, though it looked much more suited to her than it does to River. River smiles at her, taking a minute to wave slightly, and Amy looks shocked before waving back, patting her hair with her free hand self-consciously. Her hand touches over the streak of silver River had put there, and in the end River has to lock herself in her room for fifteen minutes before proceeding to the party, too busy thinking about all the things that can go wrong when one opens up the doors to other people.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wishes she could somehow communicate to Amy that she doesn’t shy away out of distaste, but out of love — she wishes she could make the herculean effort to keep everything inside and just literally reach out to her sister, but there’s a two-fold fear in that — for one, she’s scared that she won’t be able to without revealing herself, and then she’s scared that even if she can do it, Amy will shy away from her. She learned the hard way that one can only run away for so long before people stop trying to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this was lovely, thank you all. :) Now please stick with me because I'm sure the introduction of a third DW character here will make you all unhappy, lol.

The party is everything River always imagined a party being. Full of laughter and swirling dresses and bright grins and the gentle hum of chatter emanating from every room. The castle, for the first time in many years, felt like a place that people lived, not like a place she hid herself away. Perhaps the most jarring change is Amy. She flits around from person to person, grinning so hard that when she turns away from someone she rubs her cheeks, and River laughs a little to herself to see it. It kills her to see so clearly how Amy had longed for this sort of thing — what’s perhaps worse is that part of her is selfishly angry, because she’s wanted this too, so much. But she can’t even enjoy it like Amy can — she has to keep herself very much in the present and not let herself get carried away in the moment for fear that she ruin everything.

Amy can enjoy it, at least. River does everything she does to protect her sister, but it’s not just from herself — she’s terrified of hurting Amy again, it’s true, but she’s also terrified that Amy will become like her. Cold and quiet and closed off, trapped in her own body. God, she doesn’t want that for Amy — she wants Amy to have everything River can’t ever have, but she also wants to keep Amy close, even if she can’t see her.

River sighs as one of her guards starts to offer her a hand to step up onto the podium, but seems to think better of it and just bows slightly instead. Amy is ushered up to the stage beside her, and when she settles slightly farther away from River than looks comfortable, someone gives her a gentle shove, and their shoulders touch. River shrinks away, folding her arms across her chest, and the look on Amy’s face burns her.

“Sorry,” Amy says, “River, I’m sorry, I didn’t — it wasn’t —”

“It’s okay,” River says quickly, trying to smile and shaking her head. Amy smiles hopefully back, and then they fall silent again.

“How —”

“What’s —”

They both stop and laugh, and then River says, “you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Amy says. “You look beautifuller. I mean, not fuller. You don’t look fuller, but… more… beautiful.”

“Thank you,” River says, and here’s where she’d reach out and squeeze Amy’s hand of she could, but she just doesn’t trust herself. She wishes she could somehow communicate to Amy that she doesn’t shy away out of taste, but out of love — she wishes she could make the herculean effort to keep everything inside and just literally reach out to her sister, but there’s a two-fold fear in that — for one, she’s scared that she won’t be able to without revealing herself, and then she’s scared that if she can do it, Amy will shy away from her. She learned the hard way that one can only run away for so long before people stop trying to catch up. Her hands clench where she holds them together, and to fill the silence, she says, “so this is what a party’s like.”

“So many people,” Amy says. “Did you even know there were this many people in Arendelle?”

“They come from all over,” River says. “Over there’s the Duke of Weselton. We trade with them a lot — he used to lift me onto his shoulders when I was very little and mom and dad would take me to meetings sometimes. Now I think he’s trying to get me to marry him.”

“Eugh,” Amy says. “Creepy.”

“Tell me about it,” River says, unspeakably thankful that Amy doesn’t comment on the fact that there was a point in River’s life when someone lifting her onto their shoulders didn’t end in a fight. Trying to cling to one of the few conversations she’s able to have with her sister, she nods in the direction of a man whose back is turned to them. He’s got light brown hair, and his suit jacket looks to be made of some strange material — it’s mottled brown, different colors running tightly together, and dark pants that don’t seem to match at all. As River points him out to Amy, he spills his drink onto the Duke of Weselton, and nearly trips over himself to clean it up. 

“That’s Prince John,” River says, “of the Southern Isles. He’s supposed to be very charming, my advisors say, but he’s the eleventh of thirteen brothers, so I’m not supposed to bother talking with him.”

“You have, like, a list of people to talk to?”

“Sort of,” River says. “I’m supposed to give people who are more important to the kingdom more of my time.”

“Oh,” Amy says. “I guess I’m not very important then, yeah?” She laughs a bit as though it’s some sort of joke, and River looks at her sharply, her mouth dropping open slightly in shock. 

She wants to tell Amy the truth — wants to tell her that she loves her more than anyone, that Amy means everything to her, that this small moment of conversation is what will get her through the next month of sitting alone in her quarters, but she just stammers instead.

“I’m gonna go get some of that chocolate. It smells delicious. Maybe talk to some other little people,” Amy says. She dips herself in a little bow, and River scowls. “Your majesty.”

“Amy —” River starts, but Amy’s already gone into the crowd, a slip of red and white and green moving quickly toward the table of hors d'oeuvres. Oh, and she can’t stand it — this is a party, essentially for her, and she’s been dying to see all of these people for so long, dying for one evening of feeling like a person instead of like a shelved doll and she can’t even enjoy it — she feels her powers bubbling up inside of her, hot and unpleasant, searing through her chest and up through her throat, buzzing at her fingertips. The gloves help — keeping herself covered in fabric douses the flames inside of her, but she has to close her eyes for a second against the wave of uncomfortable warmth. 

When the Lord of somewhere-or-other calls her over, she sighs with relief, and tries to forget about what Amy said.

___

Amy gave up years ago on restoring her relationship with her sister. It’s like River isn’t even her sister anymore, just someone who looks sort of like her and sometimes acts like her. But only sometimes. It makes Amy crazy, the way in which she can see her sister in moments. When they were kids, River had twice Amy’s spirit and four times her knack for speaking when she shouldn’t with a streak of mischievousness that complemented Amy’s just well enough to drive all the castle’s staff mad.

Amy even remembers the exact moment when her partner in crime disappeared and Miss Manners emerged. She’d woken River up late at night to build a snowman after seeing the fresh snow outside — they’d been so young — and River had gone with her, and they’d stayed up until morning playing in the snow and building people and buildings and anything they could imagine out of it. Amy’s imaginary friend had been a Doctor, and they’d built him from the ice and talked about all the adventures they’d go on until Agnes had come out to bring them to bed.

And then the next day, River hadn’t come out of her room. And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. Until here they were, all grown up, all alone, and total strangers. She can’t fathom what got to River to make her this way, all she knows is that she wants her River back, more than anything.

As she gets farther into the crowd, her focus shifts to the people all around her. Before she’d been dragged up to stand beside River in a show of solidarity or something, she’d been talking to everybody she could get a second with — everyone was so friendly, and part of her knew it was because she was a Princess, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in years, she wasn’t alone in a huge room talking to herself. For the first time, there were people to listen. She was just about to reach the hors d'oeuvres table when someone bumped into her and sent her careening onto the floor. Immediately she felt hands fussing around her shoulders and sides, trying clumsily to help her up.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” says the man she recognizes as Prince John of the Southern Isles as she stands up, brushing herself off. “Although I just spilled a drink all over some Duke or other so you should be grateful I didn’t have anything in my hands.”

Amy blinks.

“Lots of people,” he says, “plus, I’m clumsy on a good day. Not a great combination, you see.”

“Did you just tell me to be grateful for you running into me?”

“Er,” he says, “I guess I did. But that’s not what I meant. Um… I’m John! Prince John, of the Southern Isles.”

Amy smiles, and laughs a bit as she curtsies. “Nice to meet you, Prince John. I’m Princess Amelia — Amy.”

“Princess Amelia of Arendelle,” says Prince John, grinning like he’s never heard anything more lovely. “That’s a brilliant name, I love that name. Like a name from a fairy tale.”

“Oh — uh,” says Amy, quite articulately. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Amelia,” he says.

“Amy,” she corrects.

“I thought you were Amelia,” he says.

“No — I mean yes, I said —”

“You were Amelia just a minute ago,” he says.

“I am Amelia,” she says, “Amy’s a nickname. I prefer it.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Really, why? Amy’s rubbish.”

“Oi!” she says. “You’re really quite rude for a Prince.”

“Not the first time I heard that,” he says with a grin. Amy finds herself grinning back before she thinks to hold on to her indignation. Prince John sways a bit on his feet, stepping nearer to her and leaning in close to her face. It’s not an intimidating move, nor a romantic one — he squints a bit, as though he’s looking for something in her, and when he seems to find it, he beams, and holds out a hand. “Coming?”

“Coming — where? What?”

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, “have a little adventure in your castle, Princess Amelia.”

Instead of waiting for her to take his hand, he grabs hers and starts to lead her away.

“You’re so sure I’m coming,” she says, with a hint of incredulity, although to be fair, she is following him.

“Yeah, I am,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the princess in the tower, locked up here behind all these gates, running around in your sister’s shadow,” he says, “and I know how that feels.”

“You know how it feels to be a princess?” she says, and he turns around for a beat to scowl at her, leading her out of the great hall and into the nearly deserted corridor.

“Metaphorically speaking,” he says. “All these years of living here alone, nothing to do, no one to talk to? Yeah, you’re coming.”

She doesn’t disagree with him — he’s handsome, sort of, and charming in his jerky gestures and quick-draw smiles, and she has been alone for so long. Most of her excitement for the party was just excitement at the prospect of finding a companion — a friend to come over and talk to when the rooms of the castle felt especially empty, someone to share her dreams and hopes and fears with. But here, she found herself with a prince, and she’d be lying dreadfully if she said his mention of a fairy tale hadn’t immediately filled her head with dozens of scenarios where she didn’t just have a fairy tale name, but a fairy tale life, too, and it seemed like a Prince Charming of her very own was the place to start.

He tugs a bit harder on her hand, and this time she throws her hesitation to the wind, lifts the skirt of her dress, and runs on ahead of him, pulling him along behind her as he lets out a gleeful whoop of laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know me at all you should trust that Amy/Doctor will not really be a thing, and that River/Doctor is everything. So... just... go with it.


End file.
